


Velvet Redemption

by cloudnining



Category: Persona 4, Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Also idk who endgame is gonna be but I'm leaning toward Adachi so just a heads up, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, Essentially this takes place for Adachi after the P4AU semi-redemption, F/M, Flashbacks, I Blame Tumblr, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, I PROMISE I'LL UPDATE DAILY AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Lots of it, Might have smut later on, Multi, Non-Chronological, OFC - Freeform, Please Don't Hate Me, Post-Canon Fix-It, Reader-Insert, Redemption, The Velvet Room (Persona Series), Velvet Room AU, What Was I Thinking?, Why Did I Write This?, and after p5 vanilla for goro, bear with me, bear with me x3, but so do you if you willingly read this for fun, he still isn't satisfied though, i have horrible taste in men, i promise i'll finish this, i will eventually go into how they became, idfk, kinkshame me, let's see how it goes, my outline is 1.7k words, my thirst knows no bounds, plot heavy, probably, since it looks like p5r might actually give him a redemption + let him live but we'll see, so much plot, that's not till way later on in the story, this fic possessed me, velvet room attendants but, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2020-08-20 01:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20219689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudnining/pseuds/cloudnining
Summary: Y/N is an apathetic college student with little regard for her own future. She’s essentially given up. The only solace she finds is through art. She draws the various mythical looking creatures she sees in her dreams every night. After entering a contest, she catches the attention of a whole new world that'll sweep her off her feet.*Velvet Room AU in which Akechi and Adachi become Igor's attendants for the new Wild Card Persona-user, Y/N L/N as a means to redeem themselves when terror descends upon the world. Basically a fix-it after the events of P4AU and the end of P5 which prove they aren't beyond repair.*Might have kinky stuff later on, don't even ask me who endgame will be.





	1. Escapism

A child's imagination is known to be the creative mind's biggest envy. Few were those that managed to retain the passion and the excitement that came with fabricating worlds more fantastical, more invigorating than one's own; growing up was synonymous with giving up one's ability to daydream. 

You were one of those few, indeed. College-aged, living on your own, and yet you found yourself swimming in an endless sea of maladaptive daydreaming; you never really did mind, though. But the real kicker came when it was time to sleep. Your subconscious somehow came up with even more adventurous scenarios than your waking mind, which easily gave way to translate over into creative outlets; you wrote up a basic description of the most recent nighttime wonder so it wouldn't be too fleeting, and quickly enough your hands were on a sketchbook, and in a flurry of impulse, your hands were working away at the canvas, not resting until the image mimicked your vivid dreams in a way that did them justice. That's not to say you weren't _immune_ to art blocks - the torture that came from having swirling stories clashing in your mind combined with an utter lack of motivation to elicit them from your head was not one unknown to you. Yet you were never happier than when you faced a finished piece, exhaling in sheer relief as you pondered on whether or not to scan it and post it online. A few of your pieces were met with a high level of praise that went straight to your resume. Online popularity must count for something, right? 

Regardless, you lived through and for your art. Though never going beyond a simple explanation, you still held on to the slightest sliver of hope that these dreams must be something more than just dreams. Not to underestimate the power dreams hold on their own, but you were kind of getting sick of the humdrum of your everyday lifestyle weighing down on you so much that it was only through your imagination and the expression of it that you were getting any enjoyment at all. _Someday_, you muttered to yourself, a mantra that carried you from every morning to night, _I'll understand_. 

But alas, that day was not today. 

You rolled around your chair, staring at the half-painted latest work in front of you. It was last week's six-winged beast* that had manifested itself to you in your slumber, looking right back at you glaring as if to say "Getting lazy, are we?" you'd sketched up it's basic shape, but didn't know what the right set of colors to finish it off would be. Were the eyes adoring the stems of its bottom set of wings red-violet or red-orange...? Your dream memory was starting to slack off a little. You looked at the clock: 2:14AM. You had an 8AM lecture tomorrow - you could think about it as you spaced out in class. 

* 

The professor was too deep into her so far half-hour rant on what the ingredients of an economic crash were (you were in a creative writing class) to notice barely any of her students not paying a second's worth of attention. You were sitting comfortably in the very back of the lecture hall, sipping on coffee while testing out the colored pencils in the box you'd bought just last week. Another rough sketch laid out before you - at least you had the memory to replicate it in class - and you absentmindedly switched between goldens and royal purples and firebrick oranges. Masks... the top ring being held up by the upper two wings had four masks on it, with the mysterious glow of something a villain would wear at a masquerade. You were so deep into your drawing that you barely noticed a sleekly folded, smooth paper crane landing atop your work. Rubbing your eyes sleepily, you looked around for the source of the thrower, trying to see if they aimed incorrectly so you could toss it to the correct receiver. To your surprise, no one so much as glanced at you, which made the crane's presence, perfectly tangible and real in front of you, all the weirder. You hardly talked to anyone in class outside of group projects or partner discussions - it's _college_, for crying out loud. You catch a glimpse of a classmate - or was he? You'd have noticed someone so peculiar before - with silver hair down to his shoulders clad in blue from head to toe as he made his way out of the classroom. I mean, typical of an 8AM rant lecture, but still. 

Cautious to ensure no one was watching, you unfolded the crane ahead of you. It read: _Art contest down in the City Gallery this Friday. Submissions are accepted until tomorrow night. You of all people shouldn't miss it. _

_ Only slightly cryptic, _you thought to yourself as you heaved a sigh. That wasn't half a bad idea. You'd participated in a bunch in your time, but had never taken the risk of submitting pieces related to these dreams. Maybe this was a good chance to give it a shot and see how the world takes your half-baked fantasies. You made a mental note to yourself as you walked home, satisfied with the color palette in your notebook, to haul ass and finish the damn thing before tomorrow night. You sat down in front of your laptop with a small glass of gin and tonic, and before you knew it, you were eight glasses in, the room spinning around you as you danced to some tunes from your youth, your paintbrush in hand. 

You woke up at noon, groaning as you picked yourself off the couch, and woke up as quickly as if a bucket of iced water had been dumped on you when you glanced at the painting. Finished. Done. Your drunken haze had taken a turn for productivity you couldn't have predicted - the colors practically beamed off the canvas as if they were the sign on a night club. You lightly touched it to ensure it was real - as an even bigger surprise, it was dry as a bone (how in the fuck?). Faster than you could cry out "Drunk rights!" you shoved it into your bag, stepping out into the streets in full-on pyjamas and bed hair, an espresso making its merry way down your throat as you tumbled into the train, tumbling right back out onto the station closest to the City Gallery. 

The curator was nice enough to not make any comments or give off any condescending body language toward your nighttime attire in broad daylight. You were given a form to fill in, coupled with a couple randomized security questions to ensure not just any rando could waltz up and claim your piece as theirs in the case that you won without being there. 

"Please be here by 8PM this Friday for the showcase and voting procedure." The curator, a petite brunette with hair only down to her chin, said in a rehearsed, yet friendly voice. 

"No worries!" You mused, ecstatic to finally have something to look forward to. _Thank you, random classmate_. As you spun your foot to leave, the curator's voice called out. 

"Miss L/N! Please hold on a moment... it seems you forgot one part of the form." She said. 

You raised an eyebrow and turned back to her, eyeing the form she held in her hands out to you. _Ah, fuck. No title_. You picked and prodded at your brain, searching for something short but catchy. You scratched your head, nearly jumping three feet in the air when a voice rang out clear as day from nowhere and everywhere. 

_I am thou..._

"Miss L/N? Are you alright?" The curator asked, concerned. 

You blinked quickly a couple times and nodded, red-faced. Taking the form from her hands, you brushed it off with a nervous chuckle, "Uh, yeah. It's just... thinking about titles isn't so easy and all, heh." 

The curator nodded slowly, starting to ramble on about her own struggles as an artist. You were intent on hearing her out at first to distract from your own weird fuckery, but you held your grip as the voice came back. 

_ Thou has illustrated thy destined ally, the Justice of the... _

"_Seraph_." You murmured to yourself, in sync with the voice. Had you finally lost it? Was the tale of the mad artist more than a myth? You looked up, the curator still too deep in her rant, kinda like your professor, to notice. You scribbled the seemingly destined title down on the form and slid it forward to her as a hint that you had your fair share of time here. You looked down at your phone, indicating today as a Tuesday. 

"Ah, it seems it finally came to you." She smiled knowingly, taking the form. You nodded, granting a final smile and a thank-you curtsy before walking off. She waved after you, smiling.

*

The next three days were excruciatingly long. You cruised through your classes doodling endlessly, searching once again for the voice that had been so helpful at the Gallery that day. Had this "revelation" been a one-time blessing, a desperate cry from the depths of your subconscious to aid your mind? 

You didn't really know, but you decided to roll with it. Why ruin a perfectly good thing that seemed (as far as you were concerned) within the bounds of an artist's typical sanity level? 

And thus, the fated night came along. You stood in front of the mirror, breathing out in a mixture of excitement, anxiety, and uncertainty. Cotton-candy frill adorned you in the form of an old-fashioned shirt-dress. The top was a white button up with a slick collar and rolled up sleeves, the bottom a flouncy pink held up by a large red ribbon on the back. White Mary-Jane shoes with knee-length baby pink stockings gave off a look that said: "Artist riddled with childhood issues lugging on until today living out the youth she never had through her art." I mean, if you looked super into it, that is. You hoped no one would. Whatever, artists that went to these types of events were eccentric, right? You could bear a couple weird looks on the train. Actually, a black coat might be in order - you aren't in the mood to stand out too much and get robbed, after all. You fasten on the star-shaped white earrings on, and huff out sharply. You nod at your reflection in the mirror, sheer determination emanating - or at least the illusion of it. Fake it till you make it, right? 

Thus, you were off. 

*

The City Gallery shone in a way that you had not ever thought it possible of before. That's not to say it was ever ugly, but tonight, it felt alive, almost. The fresh, youthful art that decorated the walls transformed the vibe of the place into that of a friendly, welcoming, yet glorious in its own right. The chatter of the guests and the elated buzz from the artists ran through the Gallery like a pumping bloodstream. You stepped about slowly, graciously, playing out in your mind as if you were the focal point of a movie scene centering on you as you took in a breath of a world that could possibly be within your reach in the future. The other submissions were good - really good, intimidatingly good - but they all had one thing in common: soul. You felt understood by these paintings, by the likemindedness of the no-faced strangers that had come along with hopes like yours, in a way. Of course, none of the submitters had name tags on, and the pieces only had the titles on cards below them - this was to prevent any bias from occurring once voting took place. You appreciated the hell out of that. People wouldn't be judging anything but your art; the reveal came only after the awards were given out. 

You side stepped along the wall, growing ever closer to your own painting trying as hard as you could to not be obvious about it. Paintings depicting surreal, gravity-defying waterfalls, rainbows built out of metal, one that was clearly trying super hard to not out itself as Game of Thrones fan art... the place had it all. You comfortably took place to a painting two over from your own, depicting a house with skin-like textures with the rooms sprawled all over it like guts (this one was quite gory in its illustration, but you saw right through the message of growing up in a broken home.) You side-eyed the guests that came and went by your painting, nodding slowly, some tilting their heads in an attempt to understand, others nodding thoughtfully at the orchastration of your mind. One even seemed to be muttering a prayer in front of it - you guessed it made sense, clearly having angelic imagery and all. But through it all, a single guest had stayed as the crowds came and went by your painting. How much could you possibly look into it? The man had messy, short silver hair - same shade as the classmate that ditched class the other morning, but completely different cut and composure. He, too, was clad in all blue; A two-piece sapphire blue suit with the jacket lazily hanging out instead of being tucked in. An azure blue tie hung loosely around his neck. You decided to eavesdrop, and he seemed to be asking each and every guest that came by the same question: 

"You wouldn't happen to know who made this here painting, wouldja?" 

The guests would shake their heads, some commenting on the reveal during the reward, others wordlessly moving onto other paintings. You noticed it was getting its fair reception - sadly, other paintings on display were having no justice done to them at all. You were no longer glancing as much as you were all-out staring by this point, thus it caught you completely off guard when the man turned his head ever so slightly, locking eyes with you briefly as you gave yourself a moment to be stunned and caught within the golden glow of his eyes before gathering what was left of your dignity and turning sharply back around. 

Not being able to withstanding the 6th sense feeling of eyes boring into you after that embarrassment, you hastily turned on your heel and headed for the drinks table. Surprisingly, they were offering alcoholic drinks - unchecked. Odd, but you weren't about to complain. You sucked the life out of your third cup of Screwdriver cocktail** and took deep, quiet breaths to steady yourself. _You have **got** to stop it with the shut-in attitude_, you berated yourself. Much to your dismay, you felt a presence beside you, forcing you to look up from the bottom of your glass out at your companion. The guy from before, smiling gently at you. You nearly choked on your drink, which earned a chuckle out of him - he was handsome, to be honest. 

"You planning on finishing the whole pitcher, or can I help you out?" He asked, voice silky smooth. 

"Heh, it's a bad habit. You'd be saving me from myself by giving me a hand with this." You passed him a glass, only mildly embarrassed by your stress-induced binge. He helped himself to some cocktail as well, thoughtfully sipping his, contrast to your mindless chugging as if you were some sort of frat star. 

"Don't mind if I do," He says, extending his glass out to you for a toast. You clink your glass with his, completely unable to fathom why this otherworldly looking man was giving you the time of day. "Cheers!" He cheerily retorts; you nod, anxiety easing off as the alcohol seeps into your bloodstream. 

"Say," he starts, leaning into you and glancing around with his free hand cupping the side of his face, as if about to share an important secret, "You know anything about that Seraph painting or who made it? I'd like to give some kudos to the artist myself. I swear I've seen such a creature somewhere before, and I'd most certainly _love_ to hear the inspiration behind it." 

You suppress the urge to choke on your drink, swallowing the last sip of your fifth - or was it sixth - before deciding to shake your head, feigning lack of knowledge. 

"I see. Well, it will inevitably win, so I guess I gotta wait till then." He looks back out into the hall, his lips turning back into that easygoing smile from when he was glancing so intently at your painting. 

"What makes you say that?" You asked, pretending casual interest. 

The smile doesn't waver. "Just a feeling." He says, turning back to you. _Those eyes, fuck_. Your face is hot, and you couldn't tell anymore if it was the booze or those gleaming, golden eyes of his. 

From above, the hoarse voice of what you could only picture as a posh, golf-playing man in his 60s rang out. "Will all submitter artists please report to the adjacent hall to wait while the guests cast their votes." 

You took a five second lag to register what was said, and gave a quick curtsy to your handsome companion before skipping off in your best attempt at a straight line to the holding room for the artists. Odd how they assumed everyone would be immature enough to vote for themselves, but fair enough. 

Time oddly flew by in the room. What usually would have been a painfully longer-than-needed wait as they cast, counted, and recounted the votes due to your dread became a quick drunken spur of time, and before you knew you had rejoined the crowd, barely listening and registering the names being read for second... third... 

"And for first place..." You were right, the announcer was totally an old posh-looking man in his 60s (that got a tipsy giggle out of you) "Miss Y/N L/N captured the hearts of our guests tonight with her thought-provoking Seraph." 

Now, did you hear that right, or was your sanity slipping more than you had predicted? 

"...Miss L/n?" The voice pressed on, you shook yourself out of your stupor and skipped your way toward the steps onto the platform, giving shy bows to the staff onstage and fellow contestants before taking the small trophy and certificate from the announcer. The audience clapped, the sounds bouncing about your brain like a rubber ball in a container. 

But what caught your eye was the golden, knowing gleam in the crowd, smiling up at you in an expectant, albeit smug manner before walking off. 

You had a sneaking suspicion this was not the last you'd see of him. 

* * *

I meant to continue that Bravest Warriors fic, but this came out instead. Lord save me.

I am SO SORRY if it starts off boring, I do want to give way for world building + establishing MC as someone who's just trying to find her way... kinda like our boys lmao. I PROMISE it gets more exciting and ooooo spicy in these coming chapters. BEAR WITH ME.

*Also the painting you submitted to the contest is a super OP MegaTen demon known, ironically, as Seraph ((( https://megamitensei.fandom.com/wiki/Seraph_(demon) ))) Yes I read up on SMT lore just for this fic.

** Screwdriver cocktail - vodka &; OJ


	2. Igor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Velvet Room time! You'll awaken your Persona soon enough, don't worry. I appreciate the kudos and comment(s); it all means so much to me! I hope you enjoy this trainwreck of a fic as it advances.

"What. A. Night." 

You flopped backward onto your mattress, rolling over your side to look at the certificate on your nightstand. The buzz had worn off, and you allowed yourself to celebrate, grabbing your pillow and squealing like a schoolgirl into it with excitement. Odd as the whole thing may seem when looking at the bigger picture, you decided to let yourself have this moment. A week-long trip to Okinawa in a five-star resort. _Goddamn_. You smiled from ear to ear, looking out the window to make eye contact with the nearly full moon. _I did that_. 

The moon gleamed down at you, as if parttaking in your one-man celebration. As you sat up in your bed, you remembered the handsome companion that watched you down drinks; he'd had full faith in you the entire time, and he had been right. 

Back to squealing into the pillow. 

Though you had barely made any chitchat with anybody at the event other than him, you never caught his name. He caught yours, definitely, what with it being announced for all to hear. Huh... 

_ Ah, fuck. _

You must have looked like quite the bitch, there. The guy had been asking people left and right for the creator, taking interest in your talent in its raw form, and taking interest in you long enough to prolong a conversation. And you'd lied to his face about your identity and had been outed right after. You flopped onto the bed face down, drawing a sharp exhale of regret and frustration. He'd walked off, nameless, and you'd probably never see him again. 

_Dumbass._

You mentally kicked yourself over and over. There goes a chance at forming a bond in this hellscape of a city for once. You pouted, rolling over your other side to come face to face with your favorite plush. 

"What should I..." You yawned, exhausted, "Do...?" You asked the plush, as it stared back at you with empty eyes. Of course. 

Before the plush could come to life magically and answer your question, you were out like a light. 

*

You woke back up, feeling heavy. Your eyelids fluttered open... this wasn't your room. 

The same hall, seemingly, from the City Gallery lay ahead of you. Except it seemed to extend well into infinity. Deep blue light emanated from all over, giving the place a feeling of a profound ocean surrounding you. You looked at the paintings on the wall, standing up slowly... all your works, not discriminating by age - you could see the scribbling messes made by 6th grade hands staring back at you reminding you of your rocky start, yikes - it seemed as if your entire life was unforling before your very eyes in this hallway...but all this work couldn't possibly extend into infinity, could it? 

You _felt_ awake, but you knew this was a dream by now...

"Welcome to the Velvet Room." A smooth voice rang out from behind you. You turned sharply on your heel to behold the sight ahead. A man with a nose you swore was biologically impossible to have stared into your soul with a grin that put the Cheshire Cat to shame. A large window that also seems to be trying to reach a ceiling an eternity away spreads out behind him. 

"What is this...?" You mutter quietly to yourself. The man must have the hearing of a bat, because he picks up on your words and suddenly you blink and find yourself right in front of the desk he's leaning upon, your body sat on a cushioned (yes, blue) chair. 

"I am Igor, propietor to this realm that transcends the limitations of dream and reality." You lean forward into the desk as the man - Igor - spreads out a deck of cards, flipping one on its side to reveal a picture of a man balancing himself on the edge of a cliff, a dog in his heels. "Your ability is that of The Fool, also known as the Wild Card. Think of it like the number zero... starting at a nothingness which allows it to create a world unto itself without boundaries." 

You simply blinked...your eyes were getting heavier by the minute. This was definitely a dream, but you saw yourself soon slipping back into the blackness of your subconscious. 

"I see we haven't much time...very well. You have signed the contract that will allow for your guidance in this room to be sought out whenever you see fit." 

You blinked, rubbing your eyes and tilting your head in confusion. This was weird, even by your dream standards. "Contract...?" You echoed in disbelief. 

Igor snapped his fingers, and out of thin air materialized what you recognized as the form you signed the other day when you submitted the painting in the contest. But the girl seemed so...normal? The hall began to tip like a boat, and you looked back out at the man, trying to scramble together terms like Velvet Room and Wild Card to hang onto in your waking mind. He seemed to notice, and swiftly took away the cards and the "contract", crossing his arms and resting his head on his hands. 

"Everything will begin to come together in these coming days, you need not worry...at least, not about that." 

_ What do you mean by that?_

"You see, this newfound ability of yours does not, like most things in life, come for 'free', so to speak. It - you - will be tested, a grand fate awaits, but you must be the one to decide the turn that it will take. Suffice to say, so long as you play your cards right...heh, you _should_ be fine." 

This was King of Cryptic Dreams, that was for sure. 

The man handed you a master key of sorts, and you scanned it as it rested in your hands. 

"You will know when the time to come back is right. Until then..." His lips had barely moved through the entire conversation, but the grin remained. Doll-like, almost. As your eyelids hung ever so heavily, you barely had time to glance over at the edge of the large window, where a lanky figure in a blue suit slowly rotated, just enough that you could see the edge of his lip curled up knowingly.

You widened your eyes one last time, and blacked out right after. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the Velvet Room theme playing in the bg for this so you should too. 
> 
> ch.3 should be up by tonight lol I can't be stopped


	3. Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What better way to awaken your Persona than to be forced into a traumatic, life-threatening situation, right?

You woke up, for the first time since your odd streak of dreams, gasping for air in a cold sweat. You looked all around you. Darkness flooded your room, and given by the lack of morning sunlight sneaking through the curtains, you deduced it was probably around 5AM or so, maybe just before sunrise. 

You glanced over at your clock: 12:01AM. _Kill me_. You groaned, rubbing at your face. You stumbled to the bathroom, still in the dark so as to not wake yourself up so much that you couldn't fall back asleep. You rubbed your face with warm water, also for the purpose of not killing your sleepiness too much, and dragged yourself back to bed. 

You close your eyes. A minute, or maybe eighty, pass by, and you still cannot get a wink of sleep. You check your clock once more: 12:34AM._ Are you kidding me?_ You hiss, burying your face deep into your pillow. You can hardly believe it was only a couple hours before that you won that prize - you smack your hand around the night stand to feel the certificate, certifying your experience was not merely an extension of the dream realm. 

_Dreams..._ you breathed in slowly. Dreams got you into this mess, didn't they? They seemed to only be getting weirder by the minute, how were you even going to depict _these_ in your future works? You swing your legs over the side of the bed, too sleepy to think too profoundly into the matter. You chose to think of something simpler: The nameless man that had rooted for your artwork, had prophesized its victory, and had showed up (?) in your dream all in the matter of a single night. What could his name be? With striking golden eyes like those and gleaming silver hair, you suspected it wouldn't be something common, he was definitely not a Yuki or a Makoto... 

Surprisingly, in thinking about the man, you found yourself slipping back into your blankets, eyelids heavy, yawns increasing in frequency. The thought of him, so calm and smooth, so confident in the talent of a person he never even met...it was much like a lullaby. And quickly, blessingly, you were out once again. 

*

Your eyelids fluttered open at the sounds of a city come back to life once again. The chirping of birds and the honking of cars and the sounds of construction sites nearby harmonized together. You opened the curtains, stretching slowly as you took in the sunlight before you. After some quick toast with [preferred topping] you kicked open the small storage closet and got a tiny suitcase out. 

"Might as well start." You said to no one, unzipping it, and kicking it open. You rummaged through your closet, tossing things in without folding them. Swimgear, underwear, sundresses, flip flops, blah blah blah. It was a bit stuffy, so you sat on it while zipping it closed. Feeling accomplished, you flop back onto your bed, checking your phone to see if anyone said anything interesting. You had an email with the subject line "Congratulations, Miss L/N." You were about to mark it as spam when you saw it was from the museum staff email, so you opened it to see if it had to deal with details regarding your prize. 

> _Dear Ms. L/N_
> 
> _I hope this morning finds you well. I would first like to commend your efforts in the City Gallery contest. "Seraph" was a captivating, heart-stealing masterpiece that more than earned its place at the top. _
> 
> _In order to discuss your well-deserved prize trip to Okinawa, I would like it if we could meet to discuss the intricacies of it over coffee at 6PM today. _ _I am sorry for the impetuous nature of this request, but I will admit my schedule is quite a busy one, so it would be most appreciated if we could meet at the Cherry Tree Cafe located on 1221 Sakuranbo Street. _
> 
> _Once more, I am sorry for the haste, anything you order will be on me. I look forward to meeting with you. _
> 
> _-A_

You read it back a couple times. While yes, you are certain this is the official museum email, you furrow your brow at the mention of meeting over for coffee. Why not a phone call? Gah, you didn't want to go out today. Well, barely any day, but even less today. You had to recharge after the roller coaster of an experience this last week had been. 

"And what's up with signing off with an initial? What is this, _Pretty Little Liars?_" You huffed, laughing shortly after in spite of yourself. It was only noon according to your phone, so you should be fine. You replied back casually, agreeing on the meetup and saying you'd be there. The unfinished games on your laptop cried out to you. You sighed, resolving to finish them after finals, since it was just one more week of those before you were off to Okinawa. Then again... the thought of you playing games out on the sun lounging by a pool under a table with a large umbrella made you chuckle. You were saddened, then, at the thought of having no one you felt like inviting. Well, off to shower. 

* 

You turned the corner on Sakuranbo Street, eyes glued to the GPS on your phone so as to not have to make awkward eye contact with any passerby. This was a fancy part of town, and in your denim-skirt overalls, white button-up and baby pink knee socks you felt dreadfully incongruous in the scenery. You stopped swiftly, a person behind you bumping into you. As you apologized profusely, you looked up to see they were already at least ten steps away from you. Yeah, this was the business shark part of town for sure. You turned, frowning as you peered at an empty space between two other cafes. A waiter cleaning the outer tables noticed you and with a sympathetic look, called out:

"Hey, Miss. I'm 'fraid that place has been torn down just last week. It's a shame, really, they had a mean cherry pie in there." The guy was lost in his own melodramatic sorrow, and you squinted at him. You looked at the person: must've been college-aged, just like you. Messy blonde hair and kind brown eyes. You could have almost sworn you'd seen him purposelessly roaming around back in high school at one point. You nodded slowly at him, turning your attention back at the empty shell of a place. An empty ally that seems to stretch out into a floor-height wall; beyond it, another construction site.

You aimlessly walked into the ally, pondering what your next step should be. You didn't want to waste data, so maybe stroll into one of the neighboring cafes, get a drink, and email the guy back asking _what gives?_ You kept walking and walking and walking, but the wall didn't seem to be drawing any closer. Not that you noticed, though, as your eyes were glued to your feet. The sun was still quite a ways up in the sky, but it had begun to dive under gray clouds, as if it had grown increasingly tired of the long days it had to endure. Caught up in your own disillusionment, it took your reflexes alarmingly longer than it should have to notice the monstruous sounds behind you. Your head snapped up, and behind you you could see - what the hell even _was_ that? It looked like something ripped right off a comic book, a masked being whose body consisted of...a _hand?_ Your breath hitched in your throat, your eyes not daring to blink. Had the dreams begun to transform into delusions that now plagued your waking mind? 

The hand thing... monster, lunged itself at you, and you barely managed to jump out in time to see it crash into the side of one of the buildings bordering the ally. _Yeah, maybe **not** a delusion_. 

Your survival instincts rushed in, thankfully, and you took off sprinting with speed you had never thought yourself capable of. The wall is finally within reach, somehow, and you prepare yourself to climb it. To your surprise (mainly panic), though, as soon as you put up a foot to begin your hold on one of the protruding bricks, your entire leg, followed by the rest of your body, fazes into the wall, like a portal, and you barely have time to think quickly enough to put your arms in front of you to not land flat on your face on the other side. Looking up and expecting to find the construction site, you instead saw a deep pink sky without a single cloud on it. A sun that shone like an emerald laughed at you from above - or was it above? Like an experimentalist abstract painting, there were staircases that seemed to root from nowhere and go on forever spiraled up, down, sideways, upside down. Picking yourself up off the ground and dusting yourself off, you decided your best move was to get a running start if you were to avoid that thing from before. You tipped the edge of your foot onto a staircase the spiraled sideways, with the steps facing to your right - however, as soon as you did, you found your gravity was shifted onto it, and now the sideways staircase was the regular, upward, normal staircase. You gasped, stumbling for balance. Though these stairs all stemmed from the same platform you fell onto, once you were on them, an empty abyss lay below. You gulped audibly, sweat that you hadn't noticed before streaming down your cheek and onto your neck. Or was it tears? You could no longer tell. You heard another crash behind you - the hand thing had gotten through the wall, and was looking straight at you. A scream stifled on your throat, and before you knew it, your legs lunged you forward on the steps, the spirals and turns it made went completely ignored by all laws of physics - your feet stayed glued to the stairs, and your perspective shifted with each turn. 

To your dismay, the staircase ends on another platform that gives way into the abyss. You hear even more sounds coming. The hand quickly catches up, and you see it brought friends. Tears start welling up in your eyes as you slowly back off to the edge of the platform, not even in the disposition to glance at the abyss you knew you'd fall into. You shut your eyes, waiting for the end. Suddenly, the voice from the museum the day you submitted your painting starts once again calling out to you.

_I am thou..._

Your eyes snap open once again, crazily looking around this empty world for the source. But of course you'd gone bonkers - this was probably all an elaborate illusion your mind came up with as you were laying in the ally dying from a heart attack or something. You felt something clutched around your hand and looked down to find a paintbrush glowing in an eerie purple light. Your sight flashed from the current scenario, back to the gallery flooded in the blue moonlight, flickering to the man turning to smile at you, Igor as he was sprawling out the cards, the paper crane landing on your desk, _back and forth and back and forth and back and forth_. 

You open your eyes slowly, the brush raised and cupped in both your hands. Your heartbeat decelerates, echoing in your head. You aim the brush at your chest, breathing in and out - the air was thick and hot, and you aimed the brush into your heart. The man's voice, the man's smooth voice rang back in your head. _It will **inevitably** win._.. Or Igor's, in the Velvet Room, _It - you - will be tested_...

From within you an energy arose, scorching, ablaze as if your entire body had been covered in gasoline. Your hands stopped shaking. You smiled to no one in particular, on the verge of laughter. Tilting your chin up to look straight ahead, you furthered the brush as far as your arms could stretch, building up potential energy. 

"Per...so..._na_." 

With a force so unlike your own, the brush was lunged straight through your chest and into your heart, and it had faded as quickly as the wall from which you came through into you. That's not to say the pain was not present - but your agonized scream was overshadowed by the burning sensation in your back. As if they were wings, two streams of light spun out from you to merge into one, materializing as an angelic-looking being with wings that looked like opposing red-violet crescent moons from its back, and its halo was much like molten lava, with drops steaming off from its edges. A thick, golden bow with intricate patterns appears in its clutches, and its face is masked by small wings sprouting from the sides of its head. 

"I am thou. Thou art I. From the sea of thy soul, I come... I am Lunaria, Beacon of the Fallen." The voice resounds with overwhelming potence, and you spin on your heel to face it. "Do you wish to flee from the cage that has bound your heart this life?" 

You wiped the dumbfounded look off your face, nodding sharply with intent. 

"Very well. Thou who crave the release from the chains of thy world, I shall heed thy call!" The creature...the Persona, got to work, striking down the large masses of hand shadows that had showed up in the dozens by now. You watched in awe as it obliterated everything in its path. _Everything_. You swore if it put its mind to it, it could easily destroy the very fabric of this strange world. 

As soon as it finished its business, it turned back to you. A near-blinding glow came from its face, the brightest part at the source being covered by the smaller head wings. You stared at each other, and the Persona de-materialized, leaving the emerald moon shining in the sky in its place as it rushed at you as a stream of light, sending you over the edge. You breathed in and out slowly, not washed over with the panic you'd expect from falling to your death, and snuck one look at where you fell from. A blue figure peered over the edge, waving at you as you passed out yet again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a one-day break bc my family slaves me around all day from 8 in the morning w chores and by the time it's 9PM I'm exhausted & I pass out LOL I hate summer, can't wait to go back to uni (never thought I'd say that)
> 
> But yea here y'all go! (Does anyone read this trainwreck anyway, idc I'm just self-indulging lol) 
> 
> I got super experimental for this in terms of awakening your persona and the new "dungeon crawling" place cause I didn't really wanna rip off P1-5 cause that woulda been boring (And I'm incorporating characters from more than a single game so dUH) please don't hate me, I tried. 
> 
> These first couple of chapters have been nonstop world building and info-dumping cause this is fr a passion project of mine I wanna have based enough to carry on properly, but I swear to you the doki doki smoochy heart fluttery bits are coming up soon. Like next chapter when Adachi shamelessly flirts with you the entire time. Look forward to it wooooooo
> 
> And no you're not dead, the way to re-enter the real world is through falling off the platforms in the pink world (idk what name to give it yet, sue me). Only thing that can kill you out here is shadows :)


	4. A△□chi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As an awakened Persona-user of the Wild Card, it's time for Mr. Igor to give you a formal welcome to this new world you've dived into. He has mentioned having two attendants, but only one seems to be present...? Either way, kiss the humdrum of your everyday life goodbye.

You opened your eyes. To your surprise, you weren't in the alley you remembered, or even that strange pink world you could swear was more than just a dream - you were in your room. So, had it all been a dream? Had you overslept and stood up the mysterious _A_? However, lifting up the blanket and peeking down at your tattered, torn clothes that were certainly not like that when you picked them fresh out of the closet, you embraced yourself for the worst...

This was a fate worse than madness.

The latter could at least be explained, the former could not even hope for such a thing. _Persona_... the magical being that had showed up to your rescue when being cornered in a strange realm that **should** have been the construction site at the end of an empty ally. The last couple days, you'd been passing out nonstop, following dream sequences that left you wondering if someone was sneaking into your home everyday and slipping acid into every food item you owned. The fainting was starting to piss you off, but it figures the second you tell any sensible doctor about all this, it's life in the nuthouse for you. You shake your head, sighing in defeat and walking out of your room. The sun was setting behind you, shining its oranges and pinks through the window. 

You treaded through the hall of your apartment as quiet as a ghost; _I might as well get a snack while I think about this. I haven't been eating much lately_... you beeline for the cupboard, grabbing a jar of cookies and opening it. You started to mindlessly munch them when, on your way back, you spotted a man-sized gaping blue vortex materializing on your window. The sound of the jar hitting the floor was deafened by the whirl of the vortex shifting into a door. You looked both ways, mentally slapping yourself for the knee jerk reaction. _Yeah, god forbid the empty hallway will see_. Not seeing the point in holding back anymore, you rush toward it, feeling the very real, very tangible knob turning in your hands as you push into what certainly isn't the outside of your building. 

As expected, you're back in that exact same mystifying mirror image of the City Gallery. You sprint past through your artworks, stopping just short of running straight into Igor's desk. He seems unfazed by this, and merely looks up just enough to make eye contact. You gulp audibly once again..._I'm never getting used to that perma-crazy stare_. You decided to hold the eye contact, however, just to see if the man would blink for once. 

"Welcome back, Miss L/N," Igor says, pointing out the chair that once again magically materialized behind you. _Fuck it, even if it's one messed up delusion, it's the most excited I've been in literally forever_, you reassured yourself, sitting down. "I'm sure you must have a lot of questions." he continued, a blink (_ah-ha!_) ensuing. 

"Is this real?" Was the first thing that popped out of your mouth, your conscience stopping the echoing follow-up in your mind: _Please be real_. Maybe this was not worse than madness, just ironically a whole lot more outlandish. 

Igor laughed, his lips still not closing. Maybe _that's_ the next thing you should look out for... "Yes, but is there any other answer you would realistically expect from such a question? Is the madman not always on a chase for conviction within his own delusion?" You tilted your head, digesting that for a moment. "Regardless of that fact, we have plenty to discuss..." Igor motioned with his hand so as to call someone forward, and from the shadows by the large window stepped out a young-looking man with silver hair (a common theme, it seems) reaching down past his neck, looking freshly conditioned. Calm golden eyes bore into your own, and he donned a fashionable blue trench coat down just past his hips. Blue dress pants made the rest of the outfit, and a cap you'd only imagine Sherlock impersonators would wear sat at the top of his head, enkeeping with the blue motif. The man raised his hand in a grand gesture to draw attention to the bow he made, and you noticed he also sported some blue gloves. 

"Greetings, Ms. L/N," he said, voice smooth as syrup. "My name is A..chi, and I'll be of assistance to you during this trying journey you will embark upon." You blinked. Had you imagined that, or had a distorted sound block out the man's name as he was saying it. 

"I'm so sorry, can you repeat that...?" You asked bashfully. He reminded you strikingly so of the man leaving the classroom that fated day. _He likely was_. 

"Of course." Without missing a beat, the same happened. "It's A..chi." This time, however, it's like his mouth was muted altogether during the middle syllable. You tried reading his lips, but to no avail. Clearly onto it, Igor's shoulders shook slightly with a chuckle. You turned to him, puzzled. 

"You see...Mr. A..chi here, along with his companion is unlike my previous assistants." He relayed, inscrutable as always. Other assistants? Companion?

"Ah, _speaking_ of him..." A-chi (what else could you call him?) spoke up, not perturbed in the slightest at the censoring of his own name. "Where is that fool? If he truly plans on forcing me to-"

"Patience, A..chi." Igor interrupted him. "He has a history of slacking off, even in his previous time around...but you can fill in easily for the time being, no?" 

A-chi sighed, defeated. "Right. So, your Wild Card, Miss L/N, is that of the Fool Arcana. Now, that's not to say it can be taken lightly. As Igor has mentioned to you, it is like the number zero. Not constrained by any limits, but, ultimately, empty until something is made out of it..."

You listened intently, caught up in the man's magnificently eloquent way of talking. He explained to you basic concepts, such as the fusing of Personas, elemental weaknesses, and the concept of shadows that plagued the Lunatic Dream, which you learned was the proper name of the world you'd visited. You'd fight off as many shadows as you could while there, always ensuring you jumped off platforms only in order to return safely to the place your mind calls "home." It had many entrances around town, mainly concentrated in areas where those who'd given up on their dreams mourned those losses, abandoned places and such. 

"People like you, however, have been blessed with this ability... the ability to take your wildest dreams into your own hands and turn them into art for the world to see. Or at least, anyone willing to listen." He explained. "The shadows' presence in the town makes people more liable to believe their dreams are nothing but wishful thinking, and thus...more shadows." 

_That explains the paintbrush_, you thought. The tool you used to quite literally paint your dreams in front of you. You pondered on those out there like you. 

Igor took over and proceeded to explain what he called Social Links, or Confidants, essentially the meaningful bonds in your life that tethered you to this world, let you stay connected with others and not left damned to the evils of isolation. It seems that quite literally, the power of friendship could save your ass in battle, cheesy as that sounds. You were tasked to find others with your ability, but even then, to bond with those that didn't have it... okay. A lot of information all at once, but what else would you be doing? Studying for finals? 

"This may be plenty to take in all at once at first, but..." A-chi looked off, an enigmatic smile on his face. "Someone with an ability like yours should have no issue with it. Truly...They never do." 

Igor asked if you had any more questions. Boy, did you. However, you saw it fit for another time. Once he'd explained the easy process of visiting the Velvet Room, you briskly walked off, sleepiness washing over you. You were out before your head hit the pillow. 

*

You woke to the sound of your alarm blaring to the point you thought your brain was going to jump out from your ears. You punched it, rolling over to find you had exactly twenty minutes to get to your first exam. _Fuck college_, you muttered under your breath, any desperate attempt to make yourself look more than presentable thrown out the window. You had one foot out the door when you bumped into an overwhelming blue figure. 

"_A-chi?_" You gasped, 

He nodded, huffing and hiding behind a cool smile. How long had he been waiting there? "Well, I never _did_ get the chance to attend a university... and the Velvet Room isn't exactly _my_ realm of origin, so to speak. Igor did say you'd need a bit of help kickstarting your journey with virtually no...erm..." 

"Friends." You finished bitterly for him, shoving your way past him down the stairs. He quickly joined at your side, not missing a beat before taking out something from his pocket and handing it to you. 

"No matter, I will be your neighbor from now on...oh! And..." You widened your eyes, slowing your frustrated pace down to take in the sight before you. A crepe filled with strawberry and hazelnut spread wrapped in square pattern paper was now in your hands, its smell tantalizing your empty stomach. Remarkably considerate of someone you just met last night. 

"Ah, thank you..." A pang of guilt struck you. You shouldn't give the guy who was going to assist you on not _dying_ in that crazy world attitude. 

"Though if I may remind you, there is one slacker out there supposed to help out, too..." He gritted his teeth. You could relate, in a way. Like the person in a partner project doing all the work sort of thing.

You decided changing the subject was for the best. You two made your way onto the street, campus already in view. "So, it was you that sent that paper crane that day?" He simply nodded. "You're crazy talented." You remarked, once again slapping yourself mentally. _And I'm crazy stupid_. 

But he laughed pleasantly, seeming genuinely complimented. "Thank you, Miss L/N."

"You can call me Y/N. _Please_." You insisted. He seemed hesistant at first but nodded regardless, opening the door into the main building for you. From within you, a voice, Lunaria's...? A shattering sound that stayed within the confines of your head resounded, and all outside noise was blocked. 

_ I am Thou...and Thou art I..._

_ Thou hast established a bond that may prove itself infallible in the times to come_

_ Thou shalt have my blessing when creating a Persona of the Justice Arcana..._

Interesting...you called back Igor and A-chi's information from the night before. You and A-chi were at least acquaintances by now, definitely neighbors. You noticed you'd been standing awkwardly in the middle of the hall, and bowed profusely in gratitude to A-chi once again for the crepe, munching a few bites of it before rushing off to your exam room.

Yes, with time this new life would unmask itself as either the ideal dream or your most dreaded nightmare. A-chi waved after you, standing still in the distance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point my outline is running thin so I might use the next one/two days to lengthen it up more (honestly I freak out while writing without an outline unless it's like one-shot/poetry stuff) but yeah 
> 
> Yes I made their names being one syllable off of each other a plot point. You'll see.


	5. A date. A date?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after months of not updating, this trashy update comes because I gotta put something out there as I plan out the rest of this fic. I haven't given up! It picks up, I promise. It's shorter than usual, but it will be well worth it.

It had been around a week since your “friendship” (could you even call it that yet? You didn’t want to be presumptuous and overly hopeful only to get your feelings crushed) with A-chi had begun. He seemed very earnest in his actions, preparing breakfast for you each day (yes, it was always the delicious crepe with strawberry and hazelnut spread) and engaging with you in conversation regarding pretty much anything. He seemed to have a fair amount of background knowledge on the intricacies of human life, what with being an other-worldly being and all… 

“Miss L/N…?” His voice broke you from your thoughts. You looked up at him, realizing you had been standing there with the crepe in your mouth without biting down on it for god knows how long. You shrieked in embarrassment and turned to him, bowing in an apology. Luckily the sidewalk wasn’t crowded at all, so there was no one to give you weird looks for your actions as you wrapped up your commute home from school. 

“I’m sorry… but again, please do call me Y/N! No need for formalities, A-chi!” You said, exasperatedly trying to change the subject. He gave you a sweet smile. 

“You seemed lost in thought there. While I am sure it takes a lot of mental capacity to process all of this, I’d like to believe you know by now this is all real?” 

You nodded, and stopped halfway to tilt your head and ponder. Did you, though? _ Seraph, Lunaria, Lunatic Dream, Persona, Velvet Room, fusing _ … all of these shot around your head rapidly, dizzying you. The fact you were still actively going to college everyday and sitting down in class and painting and sketching after all of this was wild to you. You noticed your dreams had begun to quiet down as well. Not cease, per se, but they became a lot less unrealistic, ironically enough. Well, was your life not the embodiment of surrealism at the moment? 

“Earth to Y/N…” You turned to A-chi once again, who was giggling softly. Your shoulders dropped dramatically and you heaved a sigh. 

“I’m afraid you might have to get used to that for a while,” you retorted, “It is likely I won’t come to terms with this for a while.” 

“That’s quite alright.” A-chi smiled softly. “Y’know, after class, I believe we should do something different. I have sensed that you have been slightly… overwhelmed.” 

Something different. You hummed for a second, pondering on what it could be before deciding to simply ask. “Hmm, by which you mean…?” 

He traced the rim of his thermos bottle. “There is a jazz club by the museum you won that contest at, is there not? I believe it would be most relaxing to just… exist there for a while.” 

Without thinking, your heart skipped a beat. Arrhythmia? At this age? You cursed your failing body and decided to leave that concern for later, simply gazing up at A-chi and nodding excitedly. You’d finally found your way back into the apartment complexes, and the split in your paths for the day had come. 

“Meet back outside in an hour or so? I’d still like to shower, and change, y’know…”

A-chi nodded, chuckling softly. “I’m aware of human customs to this extent. We shall meet here once again.” You part ways into the opposing apartments, and as soon as your door was shut, you pressed your back into it and widened your eyes to yourself, your heart betraying your thoughts. 

_ Date? Date? Is this a date? No…  _

You shrieked to yourself like a middle schooler with a crush diary, not a grown college student with newfound superpowers.  _ How embarrassing _ . 

Rushing into the shower, your thoughts of the handsome silver haired boy consumed your mind. What could be awaiting at the jazz club? 


End file.
